A Little Thing Called Depression
by SilenceIsInfinite
Summary: Instead of feeling sick to her stomach like she always did when she saw Fang's cuts, her mind flickered to the fresh wounds on her own skin. Max's gaze landed on Fang, who had lifted his head to look at her. They shared a comfortable silence for a minute until the words poured out of Max's mouth. "What if I told you I cut myself?" ONE-SHOT.


**To be honest, I'm feeling really down. Kind of the reason for this, but whatever. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Maximum Ride, James Patterson does.**

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_"You're hideous."_

_"It's funny how you think Iggy's your friend. He would never talk to a loser like you, it's only out of pity."_

_"Despicable."_

_"Revolting."_

_"Ew, you're right, Ella! She really does look like a crack addict!"_

_"Kill yourself."_

The words were spinning in Max's head. She couldn't breathe as they trapped her, the insults swarming around her head like bees in a hive. Slowly, she brought her hands up to her ears, trying to block out the insults that were pouring over her vision. She couldn't see anything, and maybe, just maybe, with her hands covering her ears, she wouldn't be able to hear the insults anymore.

It was useless.

Even though she knew this, Max pressed harder and harder into her ears, so hard that the only thing she _could _hear were the ignominies that could burst through her paper thin wall.

Max had been on edge. She felt like she was teetering on the edge of a cliff, one foot on it and one foot off. She had been this way the entire week, and now it was like her body had finally lunged off of the cliff.

They were getting to her.

Necessarily, _they _was a term that could mean anyone. To Max, it was _everyone. _This past week, her parents had been fighting more and more over something so petty as dinner, or clothing. Her friends (Although she only had three of them) were growing distant from her. People at school seemed to bully her constantly, shoving her into lockers or squeezing lemons in her blonde streaked hair.

She was alone, or that's what it felt like.

Max couldn't contain all of the agony in her head. She needed to let it out, to show physical evidence that all of this mental, emotional - and sometimes physical - abuse was _real. _She was tired of feeling this way.

When Max stood, removing her hands from the sides of her head, she felt like death itself. Her mind began to wander to those words that stood out so easily in her mind, starting to believe each and every word. Why else would everybody be so cruel to her? In Max's mind, it all made sense.

With shaky steps, Max walked into the bathroom and opened a cupboard. When she found the razor blades, her hand hovered over them. Why was she so hesitant? This was exactly what she had wanted in the first place.

Max shut her eyes and picked up a razor and walked briskly to her room again. She sat on her bed and rolled up the sleeve of her sweatshirt, putting the razor over her wrist.

The metal of the razor was cool against her skin. Max shut her eyes tightly, dragging the piece of metal across her wrist. It didn't sting. In fact, she liked it.

Again, Max cut her wrist, watching with satisfaction as blood began forming, beads of it on her cuts. Finally, the mask of a stoic leader could melt away, and she could truly be herself.

Max finally stopped on her sixth cut, unsure of how much blood would flow if she continued. The long cuts that stretched from one side of her wrist to the other were enough.

She knew that it would only be a matter of time until she wanted to forget those words again.

* * *

For an hour, Max stared at the ceiling of her room while lazing on the bed, probing the cuts of her wrist (That had stopped bleeding and had been cleaned), simply thinking. Although her thoughts were dangerous - poisonous, even - Max couldn't keep herself away from them.

She was startled when a knock at the door sounded on her door. She rolled up her sweatshirt sleeve and said, "Come in."

The person who came in was someone who Max should have guessed it would be: Fang. He had randomly visited Max for years, so this was nothing unusual.

Fang, her best friend. He had been through so much more than Max had, the thought of her cuts on her wrists were nothing compared to the thick scars that Fang had given himself. For three years he had self harmed, slashing his skin with the blade of a pencil sharpener.

"What's up?" Max asked Fang, sitting up from her bed. He merely sat next to her and held out his arms.

Immediately, Max removed his jacket and pushed up the sleeves of his shirt. She found two cuts. Two cuts, but they were very long and stretched from his wrist to his elbow. Instead of feeling sick to her stomach like she always did when she saw Fang's cuts, her mind flickered to the fresh wounds on her own skin.

Max's gaze landed on Fang, who had lifted his head to look at her. They shared a comfortable silence for a minute until the words poured out of Max's mouth. "What if I told you I cut myself?"

The words were uneven, slow and frightening. Max's voice was different; changing from the happy voice that her facade allowed her and into her true self, the one that she always hated seeing.

Fang blinked, and Max was already beginning to regret telling him. Best friends or not, there were some things she needed to keep from Fang. Some things even she couldn't handle, like how she had finally broken, snapped in half with no mercy.

Although Fang had heard her, his gaze was blank and empty. She had no idea what he was thinking, although she could normally tell. Max opened her mouth to repeat herself when Fang's dark eyes poured into her chocolate orbs.

Concern. That was the first emotion that hit Max with the speed of a hungry cheetah, ringing through her ears. The rest were unreadable, no matter how hard Max tried to conjure some title for the emotions in his eyes.

Fang continued to scan her face for a few moments until he withdrew. "You did, didn't you?" he asked Max.

All Max could do was nod slowly as Fang asked her the question. He had been so distant lately that it was a miracle that he was here right now. Although Max had no idea how he would handle the situation-

Max's thoughts short circuited as Fang pulled her into a tight embrace, smoothing her hair and making circles on the small of her back.

The simple gestures were enough to crack Max, and she sobbed into Fang, clenching her fists around the fabric of his black shirt. No one had ever cared, had ever made her feel like she was worth something. This was something entirely different. Max couldn't even explain the feeling.

"Can I see?" Fang whispered as Max's sobs toned down into sniffles and the occasional hiccup. Max had calmed down a bit, but Fang was still making circles on her back with his thumb subconsciously, even after she pulled away and began moving the sleeves of her sweatshirt up.

Fang took her arm in his hand and inspected the cuts, asking Max every now and then if a particular place hurt or how she was feeling. Each of her responses were short, albeit important to Fang. She could feel it, the way he gently touched her wounded skin.

When he finished, Fang turned to Max and said, "I'm scared."

"For me? Or you?"

"For the both of us."

"Why?"

Fang looked at Max dead in the eye. "Because you're worth so much more than this." He pulled her into another embrace, hushing her as she began to cry again. "We'll get through this," he said, glancing down at her, "together."

She wasn't sure if she could.

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**Well? What did you think? **

**~SilenceIsInfinite**


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